


Petrichor

by Chanonvic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: A few necessary OCs, Boys Kissing, ClassPresident!Arthur, M/M, Mentions of other nations - Freeform, Not-so-gentle reminders of your days as a high school outcast, Punk!Alfred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28741239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chanonvic/pseuds/Chanonvic
Summary: Arthur's gaze lingered on the other boy, which meant that he caught the sweep of unruly blond hair and intense blue eyes framed by thin-wired frames. Arthur was struck by this boy – by the depth of his nonchalant stare, by the recklessness he read in the hunch of his shoulders, by the casual way he returned his hand to his pocket – and even after Jones had passed out of view the afterimage of him pressed against his conscious thoughts.---Arthur is running for senior class president, and he needs all the votes he can get, and that is surely theonlyreason he's desperate for Alfred's company.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to my emo playlist, as one does, and a thought occurred: a USUK high school AU with punk themes, only _Alfred_ is the scene kid and Arthur as the popular one. Yay, role reversal!
> 
> And thus this fic was born.

Despite all odds, Arthur had climbed to the top of the banal high school social ladder. He was short for his age, dressed like a prep, had transferred in from overseas, and was openly and unapologetically gay. However after an awkward first few months, he'd figured out the cliques in his new school and how they all interacted, and after the holidays he had been ready to use that to his advantage. He kissed his teachers' asses to earn chances to glimpse at tests, then sold that knowledge to the jocks under the guise of tutoring them. This meant that bullies left him alone, and he used that to get in with the nerds – the chess club geeks, not the weeaboos – and from there, it was easy. It didn't take much to gain the main office's trust, meaning he got access to the confiscated items, which earned him fealty from the stoners. And when desperate, he could play the Gay Best Friend for the popular girls, which allowed him to catch up on gossip, accrue favors, and sometimes play matchmaker. By summer, he'd had a "friend" in every social group ready, willing, and able to do his bidding at a moment's notice.

Well, _almost_ every group. Arthur fretted through the summer over how to penetrate the punk group. By their nature, they didn't have strict membership rules or a leader, so he couldn't weasel his way in with his usual methods. He wasn't even sure where they hung out or what they did outside of class. He was only vaguely aware of the teens with thumbholes in their hoodie sleeves or fringes falling over their eyes or scuffed tennis shoes with doodles all over them. Otherwise, they may as well not exist to him; they certainly hadn't been necessary for his ascension to general popularity.

But this year, his senior year, was different. This year, he was aiming ever higher – he was running for class president. He'd revised his resume in preparation for college applications and decided this would be the perfect boost to guarantee admission to his dream schools. After all, how great would it look that the foreign transfer student managed to not only assimilate to a new culture and school but also take on such selfless responsibility? Arthur smirked at the reminder of his own genius. If he could secure the position, his plan would go off without a hitch. All he needed was to ensure he'd have the votes.

* * *

Arthur actually enjoyed classes, and since he had completed all his required courses, he had more room for electives this year. He'd jumped on the opportunity to slot Poetry Literature and Composition into his schedule. After the initial few weeks, he was glad that it was living up to his expectations.

One day, in the middle of a lesson on villanelles, something odd happened. The teacher had just asked a question on Plath, and before he could raise his hand to answer, the door creaked open. In walked a hunched figure whose face was hidden by a hood and hands shoved into jeans pockets. Though they skulked to their seat as the picture of stealth, the intrusion drew the entire class's attention to them. Arthur joined his peers in watching this person sneak their way to the open seat in the back. They didn't even make it halfway before the teacher cleared her throat.

"Mr. Jones, I presume?" she asked, quirking her eyebrows. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

The person stopped, turned, and shrugged. "Don't mind me," they said, revealing a boy's voice. "Didn't wanna interrupt."

The teacher nodded, then gestured to the desk in the back that this Jones character was already headed toward. "Well, good for you for joining us. Hurry and have a seat so you can dive right in. Oh, and there'll be no hood or hat-wearing in my class." She gave him a stern look.

Jones extracted one of his hands from his pocket and flashed a thumbs-up sign before removing the hood. By then the rest of the class had returned to their open textbooks, but Arthur's gaze lingered on the other boy, which meant that he caught the sweep of unruly blond hair and intense blue eyes framed by thin-wired frames. Arthur was struck by this boy – by the depth of his nonchalant stare, by the recklessness he read in the hunch of his shoulders, by the casual way he returned his hand to his pocket – and even after Jones had passed out of view the afterimage of him pressed against his conscious thoughts. He fought the urge to turn and watch the boy settle into his seat, and the effort made him miss the rest of the class discussion. It was all too soon when the bell rang, and Arthur was up and shoving his book back into his bag before the last peal. He just wanted to be away from that distraction of a boy so his thoughts could clear into coherency again.

He had just made it to the door when – "Arthur! Hold on a minute," his teacher called to him. He sighed and stepped out of the way of the stream of students so he could walk back to his teacher's desk. "You too, Mr. Jones," she added.

Arthur's heart picked up pace and he forced himself not to turn to watch the other boy approach the desk. He unclenched his jaw to ask, "Did you need something, Ms. Jacobs?"

Jacobs leaned against her desk and folded her arms. "Yes, actually. It's no secret that Alfred here has missed almost a month's worth of class and assignments. As one of my top students, I was hoping you would agree to tutor him, just enough to catch him up."

Arthur blinked at her, then glanced at Alfred for a moment. When he didn't say anything, Jacobs pressed her lips together.

"I'll make it worth your while," she continued. "I'll give you extra credit in return for your services."

Alfred cleared his throat obnoxiously, and Arthur and Jacobs looked over at him. "Don't I get a say in all of this?"

"Oh," Jacobs said, "yeah, of course. Do you not want a tutor?"

Alfred turned to give Arthur a sweeping look, and he smirked. "No," he said after a moment, "it's just, what do I get out of this?"

"You mean, besides free help?" Jacobs tapped her chin. "Well, I guess I could let you hand in late assignments with no penalty. That should help your grade, too."

"It's a deal, then." He extended a hand to Arthur. "How 'bout it, then?"

* * *

Arthur had all of two days to prepare for their first tutoring session. He'd dutifully prepared his notes from the first few weeks of class and shoved the earlier books into his locker for that fateful day. That had been the easy part. He still had no clue how to engage the boy he'd been assigned to -- what was Alfred's learning style? just how interested was he in poetry? what was his course load like? -- so he fretted over it until afterschool that Friday.

He was the first to arrive at the library, so he picked a table for them to use. He arranged the books and notes neatly and waited. Then he rearranged them and waited some more. He frowned and glanced at the clock, then pulled out his phone to check his planner, then waited some more. After a few more minutes, he was beginning to think Alfred wouldn't show. Either he had forgotten about their meeting or had blown him off; that wasn't Arthur's problem, though. He rolled his eyes and started jamming his items back into his backpack so he could leave and salvage what was left of his afternoon.

Arthur was just about to put away his first textbook when the library doors opened again. He glanced over, not expecting much, and was mildly surprised to see Alfred walking briskly toward him, hoodie pulled over his head again. As he neared, Arthur could see a white wire dangling down the front of his shirt, with one earbud loose. When he slid into the chair opposite Arthur, he yanked the other bud free, too, and started wrapping the cord to stow it.

Arthur quickly recovered from the shock of his no-show showing up. "You're late," he said sourly.

"Time is a manmade construct," Alfred replied casually as he shrugged his bookbag off his shoulders and into his lap. He pulled out a notebook and tossed it on the table, then looked up at Arthur and flashed a smile. "Just kidding, I had to help my brother with something and got held up. Sorry about that."

Arthur rolled his eyes for lack of a better response. He was hardly willing to admit to himself that Alfred's smile had evaporated all traces of irritation and he couldn't think of a way to convey that forgiveness. Instead, he busied himself with once again extracting his books and papers. "I didn't know how much you've read already, so I brought all of my notes."

"Ah," Alfred said as he craned his neck to look at the pages Arthur was sliding across to him. "I skimmed the syllabus while I was waiting to be placed, but not much else."

This piqued Arthur's curiosity, forcing him to wonder for the first time just why Alfred had missed so much of class to begin with. "What happened?" he asked simply.

"Had to convince the dean to let me into a senior class," he replied with a shrug. He picked up one of the pages and glanced over it to elaborate, "I'm a sophomore," then returned to reading.

A sophomore? Before he could stop himself, Arthur gave the other boy a sweeping look, keen on the details that both confirmed and refuted this claim. His eyes roved over the broad shoulders that promised this lanky boy would fill out considerably, caught the way the cuffs of his hoodie left his wrists exposed, saw the softness still clinging to his face. Arthur was shocked that a mere fifteen-year-old could captivate him as much as Alfred did. He mentally cleared his throat so he could pull his thoughts back on track. The sooner he caught Alfred up on his missed assignments, the sooner he could get back to his own devices. He grit his teeth and dove into the session, borrowing techniques from his time with the jocks the year prior.

The designated hour passed quickly, helped along by Alfred's quick absorption of the material (or at least his reluctance to voice his confusion). "Don't forget, we have a one-pager due next week," Arthur said as he once again shoved his things back into his backpack. "I'd suggest you use your weekend to find a poem to analyze."

Alfred waved a hand dismissively. "Got it covered."

Arthur wasn't sure if the boy truly "got it" or was underestimating the assignment, but he let it go. Regardless of how he scored on the essay, it'd give them something to talk about during the next session. Speaking of which: "Do be on time next week," he said with a hint of leftover exasperation. "Or at least let me know if you get held up again."

Alfred smirked and leaned forward on one elbow. "Well, that'd be a lot easier if I had your number," he drawled.

He didn't even get the chance to wonder if Alfred had meant the weighty implications lurking beneath his words before he was pushing his phone across the table and taking the other's. He came to long enough to type in his number and name, and by then he'd convinced himself this was all for convenience and Alfred couldn't have meant anything else by it.

* * *

For all that it took Alfred to let him read one of his poems, Arthur expected the draft to be atrocious, or at least pretentious and angsty and trite like most teenage writing is. His eyes therefore widened as he read line after line of intricately woven figurative language. Even the free verse style that Arthur would have sworn yesterday he hated actually worked for the piece, since it allowed Alfred to invent the rhythm and pace himself. When he finished the piece, he set it down and slowly took out his trusty red pen, all without taking his eyes off of the sheet of paper. Carefully, he started to write in the margins as he reread the poem.

They exchanged poems the following day, and a Arthur was pleasantly surprised to see just as many annotations on his paper, in blue ink. "Good job," Alfred said excitedly. "Your form is really tight but it doesn't seem like you're forcing it."

It felt good, refreshing, to have someone notice the complexities of his writing, enough to comment more than a generic "sounds good." Still, Arthur knew how to take a compliment. "Thank you," he said magnanimously. "And yours was not bad, either. You have a natural ear for rhythm, which'll serve you well if you continue writing free verse."

Alfred's face went soft and open for a long moment, like he was convincing himself he had heard correctly. And then, when the compliment had processed completely, he practically preened. "Ah, untapped talent," he said casually, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head. "Maybe I should've gone into music instead."

"Oh, stop," Arthur said. He swatted the other's arm playfully. Still, if Alfred could look that delightfully bewildered, it was worth it to shower praise on him.

* * *

He found Alfred under the large tree by the school's side entrance. Of course, that had been the last place he'd thought to look, so his irritation fueled his brisk pace as he walked toward the other boy. His footfalls crunched the dried leaves scattered across the ground, so Alfred had to know someone was approaching. Still, he didn't stir. When Arthur was close enough, he could see Alfred had his eyes closed and his face was tilted up slightly as though to catch the sunlight despite his sitting in the shade on an overcast day. He was the picture of serenity. Before he knew what he was doing, he had stopped in his tracks to admire the younger teen. Even from feet away, his proximity to Alfred lit a fire through him, so much that it kept at bay the autumnal chill.

"There's a spot next to me," Alfred said suddenly. Arthur flinched, then huffed as he returned to himself to hide his momentary lapse. Still, he accepted the invitation. He took another few steps forward and sat down. He didn't lean back like Alfred did, instead contenting himself to rake his eyes over the other once he was sure Alfred wasn't planning to open his eyes.

"I was looking everywhere for you, you know," he murmured after a while, if only to break the silence. It was strange; as much as he had been tearing through the school to find Alfred, he was reluctant to disturb the stillness between them now.

"It's gonna rain soon," Alfred replied softly.

"What?" Arthur blinked, completely thrown off by the non-sequitur.

"Rain," Alfred repeated. He inhaled sharply. "You can smell it on the air, can't you?" And he peeled an eye open to pin Arthur with an expectant look.

Arthur swallowed under the weight of that look and started to stand up. "We should get inside, then, don't you –?"

Alfred latched onto his elbow and tugged him gently but firmly back down. Arthur looked down at his hand then up at his face. Alfred was watching him with full attention now. "Stay with me," he said – pled, really. "Please."

They had homework to get to, that was the whole reason Arthur had been so hellbent on finding the other blond in the first place. Besides, the future senior class president allowing himself to get drenched for the sake of a boy and a peaceful afternoon was ludicrous. And besides _that_ besides, they could catch their deaths out there, whatwith the seasonal temperatures cooling every day. All of those perfectly logical and coherent thoughts drowned in the pools of Alfred's eyes, so Arthur scowled and took his arm back and leaned back against the tree and waited for the stupid rain and pretended it wasn't refreshing and that he wasn't tempted to lean into Alfred for warmth.

It was a relief that the tree shielded them from the worst of the rain.

* * *

Arthur clenched his jaw as he leaned back against his locker and watched the commotion down the hall. He supposed it was his own fault for not taking his competition more seriously, but how could he have predicted that pretty-boy Antonio would _also_ run for senior class president? Or that he'd announce it the same exact week Arthur had planned to do the same? His grip tightened around his books; it was infuriating. And to make matters worse, he knew Antonio would certainly garner enough votes to be a threat, if the gaggle of teen girls currently surrounding him was any indication.

Sure, Arthur hadn't expected the run to be a walk in the park, but he had banked on a simple campaign that largely consisted of reminding all of his acquaintances of the favors they owed him and then befriending the undecided and apathetic voters the secure the lead. Now, he'd actually have to try. He spared Antonio and his fans another glare before pushing himself off the lockers and walking in the opposite direction, opting to take a detour to his next class. It was history, so he could afford to use the period to hatch a plot to cinch a victory.

He was pulled away from his thoughts by a flash of familiar blonde. Arthur whipped his head around and saw Alfred and a couple of other teens chatting and walking toward a classroom door. He stopped to watch them enter, incidentally catching Alfred's attention. The younger teen flashed him a grin and waved, then entered behind his classmates.

That smile burned like an afterimage in his mind, and Arthur started to cobble together a plan to secure himself that victory. He smirked to himself as he continued on to class, convinced that his stroke of genius was the only reason Alfred's bright smile lingered in his mind.

* * *

Arthur cleared his throat, drawing Alfred's attention away from the exercises he was reading through. His eyes widened in that bewildered and expectant and cute way of his. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing," Arthur replied as he pieced together a word pathway that would get him to where he wanted. "I was just watching you work and a thought occurred." He licked his lips as though he was trying to figure out whether he wanted to voice this thought. "It's just, you're really good at this." He gestured vaguely to the papers strewn about the table before them. "Is that how you convinced the front office to place you in a senior level class?"

Realization colored Alfred's expression, followed by a self-satisfied smile. "Sort of. Sure, acing all my assignments helped make my case," and he leaned in conspiratorially, "but I think my little rebellion had more to do with it."

"Rebellion?"

Alfred chuckled. "Yeah. I stopped showing up to English class. Eventually, my teacher just signed off on advancing me."

"Impressive," Arthur said, and he meant it. It was a brute force, high-risk/high-reward tactic, certainly not one he'd have thought of himself, but clearly it had worked. "Well, anyway, I say all that to mean that I don't think you need me tutoring you anymore." He gave his best pitiful smile and looked away regretfully to seal the deal.

"Oh," Alfred said, and he sat up straight. "Just when I was starting to get used to this arrangement, too."

Arthur sniffed a laugh. "Me, too. It's for the best, though, you get to have your social life back."

"You do, too."

Arthur scoffed. "What social life?" He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid it's back to homework and extracurriculars for me."

And right on cue, Alfred looked horrified. "That can't be _all_ you do. What about, I don't know, hanging out with your friends or going on dates or just slacking off?" He rolled his eyes preemptively. "And don't give me that 'I'm older, I got responsibilities' spiel, it's called 'senioritis' for a reason."

"I don't know what to tell you." Arthur shrugged, then turned as if to grab his bookbag so that he could hide a smile. Alfred, the sweet, naïve fool, was playing right into his hands.

"Well, that changes now." He pushed away from the table and swung his bag onto one shoulder, then jerked his head in the direction of the door. "Come with me."

Arthur rushed to put the rest of his things away and then stood to follow Alfred out of the library. "Where are we going?" he asked as they walked the empty hallways.

"To meet up with some friends. We were planning to hang out in the city for a few hours."

Arthur was actually a little surprised to hear this answer. He only ventured beyond their suburban town if he could justify the mileage, and certainly wouldn't do so on a school night. "And how are we getting there?"

Alfred flashed him a smile. "I'm driving."

He wondered if that was meant to be comforting; instead, Alfred's smile just twisted his stomach in knots in what was surely apprehension about jumping into a car with a boy he hardly knew. Strangely enough, that nervousness dissipated a little when he caught sight of the group of teens leaning against what turned out to be Alfred's car. Arthur even recognized a few of them -- Kiku was also in their poetry class, and the silver haired one looked familiar. Arthur suppressed a pleased smirk as he remembered they were both seniors, too, and therefore could vote for him.

There was a tangle of introductions before the group tried to work out how six people were going to fit in the car meant for five. Arthur half expected the group to kick him out eventually and save themselves the trouble, but no one even acted like it was a possibility, and he wasn't about to offer if it got him closer to his goal. In the end, they decided to let Arthur have the passenger's seat and shove the other four in the back. Much to Kiku's distaste, he was forced to sit across the others' laps so they could all fit back there.

Once that trouble was sorted, the group went back to chatting. Alfred joined them easily, one hand on the steering wheel and managing to look casual driving like he was born to do it. Arthur, meanwhile, just laughed and listened and joined in when necessary. This ragtag group was a clash of personalities, but they somehow made it work. Arthur wondered how he never managed to run into this group before.

"Hey, Al, aren't you glad Mattie didn't come now?" one of them -- Mike, Arthur remembered -- asked.

Alfred snickered. "Yeah, if there were five of you back there, we'd get pulled over for sure."

Arthur had gathered enough context clues to figure out that "Mattie" was Matthew, Alfred's younger brother. "Where is he, anyway?" he asked.

Alfred scowled. "Hanging out with some _senior_ ," he muttered. "Francis, I think his name is."

"Don't know what he sees in him," Gilbert, the silver-haired boy, said, which got a laugh from his friends. Arthur didn't get what was so funny; he wanted to know what poor Matthew saw in that cretin, too.

"Aw, sorry Gil," Julie, the only girl of the group, said. "We know that's a sore spot."

Gilbert, for his part, took to muttering to himself. Arthur glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the boy had impressively managed to fold his arms in the cramped space so that he could pout properly.

Luckily, the teens didn't have to wait much longer. They made it to the megamall that the city was famous for. Even on a weekday, the parking lot was packed, meaning they had to park far from one of the entrances. This worked out well for the teens in the back since they got to stretch their legs. They entered through some department store and made a beeline for the exit so they could get to the mall proper.

"So, where to first?" Kiku asked, looking around.

His friends all spoke at the same time, jumbling up the words, "arcade" and "movie theatre" and "food court."

"Why don't we make our way through?" Arthur suggested with a shrug. "Do some window shopping on our way upstairs to the arcade and theatre, and then polish off a bite at the food court."

The others stared at him, appraising the idea. Finally, Alfred snapped his fingers. "That!" he said. "We're doing that."

And so they did that.

* * *

Arthur was exhausted by the time they left the mall. It wasn't technically late, but something about being out, miles from home, with a group of kids he barely knew made him feel like he was breaking all sorts of rules. And the terrible thing was he didn't hate it. Alfred, gentleman that he was, broke off from the group to pull the car around for them, which prompted the rest of the teens to figure out who was sitting where for the trip back.

"Someone should take my spot," Arthur offered. Though he dreaded the idea of being stuffed in the backseat, it was only fair. Besides, he needed this group to like him.

The other four exchanged looks, then laughed. "Oh, no," Gilbert said. "I don't think Alfred would appreciate any of us cuddling up with you." And this prompted the group to laugh harder.

Before Arthur could ask for clarification, Alfred was pulling up to the curb. They all tumbled inside and out of the evening chill, and the relief Arthur felt for once again claiming the passenger seat almost distracted him from Gilbert's declaration. Almost.

* * *

It became routine for the two to meet up during their normal tutoring time to do something -- usually meaning do nothing at all. Often, they'd hang out somewhere on the school grounds they ought not to and chat, occasionally joined by all or some of Alfred's friends. Obviously, this seemed counterproductive to Arthur's goals, but, he contended to himself, this was all part of the larger vision. If he could make Alfred think they were friends, then he would naturally convince his older friends to vote for Arthur. It was a trickle-down approach. All of that to say that Arthur didn't think too hard about spending alone time with the other boy.

The routine accelerated the pace of the school year, and before Arthur knew it, they were preparing to enter the cold days. They wrung out the last of the autumn warmth, hanging out as much outside as they could.

One Friday, Arthur and the others stood under the bleachers, alternating between snickering at the football team practice and trading barbs with each other. Occasionally they would stamp their feet and rub their arms to ward off the chill.

"Look at my bro," Gilbert said, nodding to the field. "Driving the ball like a goddamn champ." He was standing downwind of the rest of them, so when he took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled, the smoke blew in the opposite direction.

"Yeah, you must be proud," Julie said. "Either that, or disappointed you can't play, too."

Gilbert snorted but didn't reply. "I can't believe homecoming is next week, the season just started."

"You planning to go?" Alfred asked with a laugh.

"Yeah actually, but, like, ironically." He flicked the butt of his cigarette away. "Plus, Liz is on the planning committee."

Kiku winced. "Won't she skin you alive if you show up?"

Gilbert grinned. "Yep."

Alfred shook his head. "Yeah, well, have fun. School dances are overrated. Right, Arthur?"

Said teen shrugged. "Sure, but it's a necessary evil for a senior class president candidate." He tried to look sheepish, even humble.

"Whoa, you're running?" Gilbert asked, looking torn between disgusted and impressed. "I'd vote for you if I didn't think politics was a waste of time."

Arthur turned the smirk forming on his lips into an amused smile for the other boy. He loved it when a plan came together. Before he or anyone else could respond, a whistle cut through the air.

"Oh, they're done finally," Gilbert said. "Come on, let's go bother _bruder_ ," and he beckoned for the rest to follow.

Arthur hung back, which made Alfred stall. "I actually have to go," the older boy said. He felt a pang of regret when Alfred pulled a surprised face. "Campaigns to plan and all, you know?"

Alfred nodded, and he nudged Arthur with his elbow. "Good luck. And I'll talk to Gil and Kiku and the others, see if I can get them to vote for you."

This time, Arthur's smile was genuine. "You'd really do that for me?"

Alfred shrugged. "Of course! We're friends. Right?" He suddenly looked self-conscious, like it wasn't obvious that Arthur spent more time with him than his own associates and acquaintances, or that Arthur didn't have anyone really resembling a friend.

"Right."

* * *

Arthur drew himself up to his full height, reveling in the applause. He'd done it. His careful planning and social contortionism delivered him this moment, and he intended to soak it all in. With a deep, contented breath, he turned to shake hands with his rivals. Antonio had a fake smile plastered across his face, and it filled Arthur with glee.

He'd done it, truly done it. He had conquered the school.

* * *

Alfred suddenly appeared beside him and leaned against the locker neighboring his. "Good morning, Mr. President," he said coyly.

Arthur blinked in mild surprise. Now that the elections were over and he'd gotten the results he wanted, he no longer had any need for Alfred and certainly hadn't given much thought to what he should do with the boy afterwards. Still, the tightening in his chest told him that he was happy to see Alfred. So he allowed himself to relax, to half turn with a sweet smile that signaled his satisfaction with the new title.

"Hey, Alfred. Guess you heard the news."

"Yeah, no thanks to you." Alfred shoved his shoulder playfully. "Anyway, I think we should celebrate!" His face pinched. "Unless you're busy?"

"You know I'm not," Arthur replied, crossing his arms. "Being senior class president for a day doesn't change that."

Alfred brightened immediately. "Good! We're going out."

"'We' as in?"

"All of us, Kiku, Gil, everyone."

Arthur couldn't explain his disappointment, so he ignored it. "Great."

* * *

He'd been looking forward to breaking the monotony of student government meetings, but being yanked into an empty classroom was the last thing he'd expected. By the time he had registered that he wasn't actually being abducted, Alfred had let go. His shock dissipated to a different kind of anxious, so he crossed his arms to regain some sense of control.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"Sorry," Alfred rushed, sounding breathless, "I was waiting forever for you."

That disarmed him. Had Alfred been waiting all this time in this classroom? And for what? It must have something to do with whatever Alfred was pulling out of the front of his bookbag. "Why? What are you doing?" Arthur leaned to peek around the other boy to catch a glimpse of whatever he was reaching for.

He didn't have to wait long. Alfred turned quickly and shoved the thing into his hands, not meeting his eye. "So I know we already celebrated and everything, but I wanted to...well, I made this for you."

Arthur inspected the item. "You made an MP3 player?" he asked incredulously.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "No. I made you a _playlist_."

Now, that made more sense. And yet it stunned him. Alfred made a playlist for him? It was such a simple gesture but smarted of sentimentality. Arthur felt like he was on the precipice of something he couldn't climb back out of, but he was too curious to edge away. So, he plugged in the proffered earphones and pressed play.

* * *

It was too much. Each track conjured up familiar sensations – cold fingers on warm skin, the smell of dirt after fresh rain, warm laughter echoing under the bleachers. Arthur's mind reeled, dragged into the undertow of memories he'd made with Alfred in that short time and away from the present, away from the reminder of why he couldn't have this, why this was dangerous.

Once the playlist ended, he removed the earbuds with a shaky hand and held them out for Alfred to take back. It was obvious what the younger teen had meant, had tried to say through the music, had been conveying all along with his poetry and touches and smiles. It was easy to acknowledge when it had suited him and then disregard it again when it didn't. But now...now Arthur had the supremacy he wanted, and here this boy was still pining for him. It was ghastly. Wrong. Despicable.

"So?" Alfred prompted. "What did you think?"

Arthur had spent enough time with him to hear the hopeful expectation beneath the nonchalance in his tone, and this realization made his gut twist with what he knew he had to do. He turned to face him before he was ready so he wouldn't lose nerve. "It was...lovely," he answered honestly. He didn't know where to go from there, so he just continued staring at Alfred, and Alfred stared back. Arthur felt himself get swallowed up in the endless blue of those eyes, and then they were moving closer, and then they were closing, and then there was a pair of lips on his. His mind went blank. There was a soft insistence behind the kiss, indicating a simultaneous neediness and innocence. Arthur could feel where Alfred had been biting his lip, out of nervousness surely, and that conjured up the image of Alfred planning all of this for that exact moment. For his first kiss.

Arthur's gut twisted again, and he forced himself back. He took a step away from Alfred and half turned, eyes still closed and feeling utterly disgusted with himself. He heard a breathy sound from beside him. "S-sorry," Alfred said softly. A long moment passed, and he added, "I didn't mean –"

"Stop," Arthur practically ordered. He took a small, imperceptible breath and faced Alfred again. "You don't need to. I-I should be the one apologizing." This was it, the moment he would come clean and destroy everything between them. He swallowed the lump that started to form in his throat at the thought. "This isn't what you think." Alfred took one of his hands. Arthur shook him off, folded his arms, and stepped further away, out of his reach.

Alfred kept his hand outstretched, holding nothing but air. "What do you mean? What's wrong?"

"Everything! Don't you see?" He wiped a hand over his face and sighed. "Alfred, I...I've been using you." He hesitated, then met Alfred's gaze steadily. He had to show the boy he was serious. "I...I knew you liked me, and I used that to get you to let me meet your friends." He laughed drily. "I needed the votes. I led you on. I never felt the same." His chest ached at the admission, which he took as a clear signal of his enduring guilt.

Alfred finally dropped his hand, then shoved them both into his pockets. Arthur watched as the boy withdrew from him -- his eyes dulled, his shoulder hunched protectively, and he rocked back on his feet. Arthur hung his head so he didn't have to watch Alfred collapsing in on himself. "Too good to be true, then," he said coolly. "You'd think I wouldn't care so much." He sniffed a laugh and walked away.

* * *

Arthur cursed himself for choosing this stupid English elective. Who the hell studied poetry for fun? Well, besides tall, cute blonds who apparently have a thing for him. He sighed. _Had_ a thing for him, more like. He peered inside the classroom to see if Alfred had already gone inside; his desk was empty, so he walked in like normal. He pulled out his books like normal and waited for Jacobs to call the class to order like normal and jotted down notes like normal. He was so preoccupied with acting _normal_ that he didn't realize that Alfred never showed up for class until it was time to pair off. With his usual partner absent, Arthur spent an inordinate amount of time scanning the room for another loner.

"Hello, Arthur," Kiku said from beside his desk. "Do you have a partner yet?"

Arthur could have hugged the boy for absolving him of his awkward loneliness. And that Kiku was willing to talk to him after his confession meant Alfred hadn't told the others yet. Either that, or Kiku was incredibly forgiving. Both options bode well for Arthur, so he didn't question is luck.

"No," he said, "pull up a chair."

* * *

Alfred didn't show up to the next class, either, and Arthur was almost afraid Jacobs would ask him for a progress update or to check in with the boy due to their previous tutoring set up. He made sure to leave the moment the bell rang to avoid having to talk to her. His only solace was that Kiku opted to pair off with him again, meaning he was most likely in the clear.

He wished he didn't feel so guilty about it.

* * *

The following week felt like a fresh start. Alfred returned to class, and Arthur refused to feel anything about it. Even when it meant he lost Kiku as his partner.

Even when he was the colder for it.

* * *

Arthur could hardly wait for Jacobs to finish speaking. As soon as she granted the class permission to pair off, he shoved his chair back and sprang up so he could march to the back of the class. He had to move quickly before Kiku or someone else grabbed Alfred for themselves. He stared intently on the other's desk, clutching his folder in one hand to maintain an air of indifference that he certainly didn't feel.

Alfred didn't notice him approaching. He had his head propped up on one hand and was looking listlessly to the side at the other side of class. This gave Arthur the courage to grab the closest unoccupied chair and drag it to the boy's desk and plop down in it. Alfred started and turned to see who had joined him. His expression cooled considerably when he realized it was Arthur, which hurt but he pressed on anyway.

"Be my partner?" he said, hardly remembering to pull his syntax up to turn the demand into a request.

Alfred leaned back and blew a wayward strand of hair from his eye. "Sure," he said, sounding he'd rather die if that were an option. "Kiku's not here so why not?"

Again, Arthur's chest squeezed at the utter disregard, but he supposed he deserved it. "Small favors," he muttered before clearing his throat. "Let's have it, then," and he gestured for the paper in front of Alfred. When he slid it over, Arthur returned the favor, handing over his folder. He considered taking out the paper inside out of courtesy, but he didn't want to give himself any more chances to reconsider this plan. For his part, Alfred gave the folder an odd look but took it anyway.

And they fell into silence. The rest of the class was already chatting, some avidly trading feedback but most goofing off. Still, the hush surrounding the pair was impenetrable in its reverence, and it was such a return to form that Arthur could've cried (metaphorically, of course). It was too easy to dive into Alfred's verses, let the other's cadence and intuitive pacing guide his thoughts. He twirled his pen idly, the impulse to proofread predictably muted.

And then his attention was yanked away from the poem before him. He glanced to Alfred even before his conscious mind caught up to alert him to the fact that Alfred had gasped at something, almost too soft to be noticeable. And by the time that he remembered his own lines, the very ones Alfred was reviewing, he was already inspecting the other's face for telltale cues of understanding: there was a crease in his brow conveying concentration, his glasses were sliding down his nose indicating distraction, and his lips were pressed together tightly like he was suppressing a smirk. This last gave Arthur hope, though he cautiously waited for more. His breathing stopped when he saw Alfred reach for a blue pen. He watched breathlessly as Alfred scrawled something toward the bottom of the page and set the pen down again.

"All right, everyone, return to your seats," Jacobs called. Arthur flinched and pulled his gaze back up. How had the group work time passed that quickly? He frowned; he hadn't even properly enjoyed Alfred's piece.

Arthur stood and placed the paper down. "No notes," he said. "Good job," he added awkwardly.

Alfred didn't respond right away. He tucked Arthur's poem back into the folder, and when he held it out he finally met Arthur's gaze. "You too," he said with a sly smirk.

Arthur practically floated back to his seat. Sure, it hadn't been the exact reaction he was looking for, but he could hardly expect Alfred to just confess his undying love in the middle of class (or ever, ugh). As it stood, the smirk was the warmest response he'd gotten from Alfred in too long, so he'd cherish it and try again next time.

As soon as he returned to his seat, Jacobs returned to where she left off in her lesson. Arthur tuned her out in favor of opening his folder. He was morbidly curious about what Alfred had written, so he slid the sheet out of its pocket and immediately skimmed to the bottom. Alfred had bracketed his last verse:

> _"I tried to write your name in the rain_
> 
> _But the rain never came_
> 
> _So I made with the sun."_

And under that, he'd added:

> _"The shade always comes at the worst time."_

He smiled down at the line and didn’t stop.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The Neighbourhood's _Daddy Issues_. (Don't read too much into that title.)


End file.
